


Open Secrets

by cleverbrainer



Series: Secrets [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:42:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28050339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleverbrainer/pseuds/cleverbrainer
Summary: Charlie and Hermione have been working together in Romania for the last 5 years, and secretly seeing one another for the last 3. They have been trading visits back to the Burrow to keep their relationship under wraps, but will they be able to keep up the ruse during their first Christmas together at home? [christmas/burrow fluff, slice of life fic] **Currently on pause as I update the background story, Early Secrets**
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Charlie Weasley
Series: Secrets [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2114457
Comments: 37
Kudos: 67





	1. Wednesday, 20th December

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I haven't tried my hand at writing a fic in at least 5 years, but I have been inspired by the thought of Charlie & Hermione having a "secret" relationship (or so they think). I'm not positive if I am going to continue with this fic, so I thought I would post it for you all to enjoy and let me know if you would be interested in reading more! Even if this is all that comes of the idea, thank you so much for reading! I do not have any editors or a beta, so any/all plot mistakes, misspellings, errors, etc are my own.  
> \- CB

At 26 years of age, Hermione Granger could honestly tell just about anyone that life at a dragon sanctuary wasn’t nearly as exciting as everyone had made it out to be. Sure, she had stories to take home to the Burrow every few months, enthralling her nieces and nephews (and scaring the wits out of her adoptive mum) with the truth behind the new scars and shiny burns she and Charlie were constantly accruing, but, beyond that, every day seemed to be just “business as usual” with a heavy side of adrenaline. It just so happened that “business as usual” meant dealing with big, ornery beasts that could breathe fire and shit the weight of your average bear every single day.

They hadn’t planned on it. Not really. But these things tend to happen when you live in a secluded mountain town, don’t they? One night you’re out for pints after a particularly grueling Thursday, and those few pints with the group can turn into one-on-one firewhiskey in front of the fireplace, swapping stories and scars from the Hogwarts years, and eventually battle scars, and, well, you know dragon handlers and their scars…

That was almost three years ago and had been the biggest open secret in the Weasley family for at least two.

It wasn’t like Hermione and Charlie were purposefully keeping the secret that they shared more than just a work schedule from Molly Weasley, they just… were never able to get time off of work at the same time. One or the other would typically visit the Burrow for the occasional Sunday dinner or birthday - just often enough to keep her from sending a Howler, demanding why they seemed so determined to starve to death in the middle of nowhere.

The other would always stay behind in Romania, picking up the additional tasks on the to-do list. It was a life that suited them just fine, and most of their siblings had managed to pick up the subtle phrasing over the years. There were still times where Molly and Arthur seemed so painfully oblivious that it was almost comical, so the private pair happily left them to their own assumptions while they continued their own lives… together, as a very well established couple on the opposite side of the continent.

What no one was expecting, not really, was that they’d both somehow be gifted off the same week for Christmas holidays.

“I’m sure he did this on purpose,” Hermione muttered to herself again, hardly taking a break from pacing a hole in the rug to tuck her wand into her hair and accept the cup of tea Charlie was offering her. She worried at her bottom lip and didn’t notice the slosh of hot liquid that found its way out of the cup. _'Maybe she’ll notice when one of her socks get wet,'_ her partner thought to himself idly. He certainly wasn’t expecting Luke, their boss, to force both he and Hermione time off to go visit their family in England for the holiday. An entire 10 days off between them, and the same 10 days at that. It was a Christmas miracle… right?

While Charlie and Hermione had been together for the last 3 years (and cohabitating for the last 2), they had done as much as they possibly could to keep their personal and professional lives separate. This meant most of the letters they wrote home were work related in detail, as neither wanted to tell anyone just how much time they spent shoveling dung, at the pub down the way, or curled up in front of the fire together after yet another mind-bendingly physical day at work. They were both comfortable admitting how much they loved one another and their jobs very deeply, but there were parts of both of them that they just weren’t comfortable sharing with their family at the Burrow - Molly especially. Merlin knew how she’d take to learning they were together, let alone living together before marriage, and eventually learning the full truth. 

Neither Charlie nor Hermione were particularly interested in the concept of marriage and children. They were both perfectly content in the life that they shared wholly with one another already - generally partners in the field, understanding each other’s minute movements before vocalization was even necessary, and wholly partners in the house and home, truly completing one another as humans and emotional beings alike. They were both terrified Molly would force them into a wedding they didn’t want and human children they had no interest in rearing. No, settling down quietly together with their dragons and letting the family believe they each preferred total solitude was much easier than coming clean.

“Well, _ma mie_ , what makes you think Luke would do a thing like that?” the freckled red-head asked slowly, once his partner had taken a moment to sip her tea, take a seat, and stop muttering half-spoken hexes under her breath.

“I’m sure he knows your family doesn’t really know, Charlie. And I’m sure he’s grown tired of our evasiveness and monthly pestering to split up Lorne and Jack for a weekend… I’m sure he’s about as tired of this as Bill is,” she sighed, finally dropping the need to sit spine-straight in favor of settling into her favorite armchair beside the hearth. “I haven’t even begun to think about the gasket Molly is going to blow…” she trailed off, noticing she had lost Charlie a little with her muggle turn of phrase. She sighed pointedly and hung her head back.

“Are you sure it would be that terrible, though? Us officially coming clean with the clan?” Charlie wondered aloud. He was stocky, that was for sure, but he could still comfortably throw himself over the couch in their sitting room without hanging over. At present, he was on his back with both hands running through his hair and scratching at his scalp. This was a common look for Charlie - he had a preference to think aloud and bounce his ideas off of whoever would listen, and something about a head scratch made his brain feel more open to ideas. He took a breath and slowly continued.

“Sure, Mum’ll hex us through the new year and back, but we’ll finally be out in the open. No more trading trips and spending twice the time on paperwork for international portkeys…” he trailed off, knowing an argument about less paperwork would be lost on the studious witch in front of him. Charlie knew all of the reasons why they agreed to keep quiet, but he had also spent at least 6 months gently talking Hermione into telling Ginny and Harry. While Charlie was happy keeping his entire life in Romania a secret, he knew his entire life was here - hers simply wasn’t, and he was always a little worried she had regrets about all of the secrets she kept.

Hermione sighed and wiggled down into the chair, throwing her legs over the sides and using her toes to pull off her socks. “Char, you know it’s not about the paperwork…” she trailed off, trying to decide which issue she was most serious about. “I don’t want your mother telling me how to live my life, and that’s final.” She finally huffed, her head and shoulders lost to the cushions as her hair sprang to life from the friction against the fabric.

“ _Ma mie_ ,” Charlie eventually sighed again. He couldn’t find an argument that he knew would win, and he wasn’t sure this was a battle he wanted to pick. Not yet, anyway. “Do you want to take the holiday in shifts?”

“No!” Hermione exclaimed, turning up in her chair so quickly she sloshed tea on the floor again. “I never said that!”

“But you’re insinuating it, love. We don’t have to tell if you’re not ready yet. We don’t have to tell anyone ever. We can take it to the grave! We can take an Unbreakable Vow…” he continued, raising his wand arm as she smiled softly and rolled her eyes.

“No, no, no. We don’t have to take a Vow…” she started, both of them unsure of where she was going by the end of her sentence until she got there. Then, a slow smirk spread across her face. It was one Charlie had learned to both adore and fear -- it was a smirk that meant she had an idea, and a wicked one, at that.

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them, will it?” she mused, one eyebrow quirked in Charlie’s direction. (Merlin, what she'd give to sneak off with him into the laundry cupboard…)

Charlie wasn’t actually trained in legilimency, but he was fairly sure the love of his life was having an idea, and he was fairly certain it was an idea he’d agree to… damn that witch


	2. Friday, 22nd December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to every single person who has read, reached out, commented, and left kudos! Special thanks to the group I've found that are more than willing to let me bounce my ideas off of them, no matter how silly or strange I think they are.  
> This chapter had been beta'd (twice!) but, as always, any mistakes/typos/etc are my own.  
> Thank you so much for reading!  
> \- CB

He had talked her into it. She wasn’t sure how, but Charlie Weasley had talked Hermione into taking a proper week off of work and going to the Burrow… Together.

She didn’t carry the small beaded bag anymore, but had now opted to use a weathered knapsack. Not only was it much more practical for her daily life, but she couldn’t imagine giving up the outside pockets for her water bottle and first-aid kit. While it was currently packed for a week-long stay at the Burrow, she felt like she was 17 again, ready to drop and run at a moment’s notice. Charlie simply held his hand lightly on her lower back, drawing unseen circles that seemed to speak comforting whispers in her ear.

“Are you ready?” he asked seriously, waiting for her to nod in the affirmative before Apparating them along on the first leg of their journey home.

\----------

“Are you ready?” Charlie found himself asking Hermione again as they crossed the hilly path that led to their childhood home.

“I reckon we’ll have to be,” Hermione sighed, slowly kicking the dirt ahead and coming to a stop before cresting the final hill along the path. She reached for Charlie’s elbow as he turned towards her; they each took a step forward until they were comfortably sharing the same foot space. They slowly tucked into one another like puzzle pieces and took a moment to breathe together, and to give one another a day’s worth of physical touch. They were used to this. They did it every day. They could do this.

It felt like it had been hours before they were ready to seal their attachment with a few languid kisses, and it seemed the winter sun had fallen behind the hills while the quiet couple took a few moments to themselves. They would need to pick up the pace to get inside before the temperature dropped faster than the sun. Hermione sighed softly, readjusting her pack and sneaking a glance at Charlie. She wanted a few more kisses for good measure before walking the final stretch to the Burrow for Christmas.

As previously agreed, Charlie entered first, hoping his sudden presence a few days before the holiday would make up for skipping his birthday floo call the week before. The burly dragon handler wasn’t afraid of much, but Molly Weasley after ignoring her attempts at contact could breathe a totally different kind of fire, one he simply wanted to run and hide from. With a deep breath caught in his chest, Charlie paused when his hand felt the cool metal of the doorknob. He immediately froze and made eye contact with Hermione, searching his partner’s eyes like they would before running into the field, wands in one hand and a broom in the other. They stared at each other for a long moment before settling into soft, family-greeting smiles as Charlie twisted the knob and pushed.

Somehow, there was no one in the kitchen. There were a few pots on the stovetop, stirring themselves occasionally, and a wizarding wireless radio playing somewhere in the background, but there were no people to be found in the entry rooms whatsoever. “We must still be tuned to the wards,” Hermione mused softly, settling into a chair to set down her bag and pull off her work boots. She had already discarded and hung her coat next to the door.

“I guess that means I’ll go get us settled in our room, then?” Charlie reasoned, reaching for Hermione’s knapsack to take upstairs with his own. The brunette simply pulled off her cap and started to undo the braid she had knotted it into for travelling. “Won’t your mum be expecting me in Ginny’s room?” she wondered slyly.  
Charlie simply arched an eyebrow before scooping up her knapsack on his free shoulder and wandering out of the room, not hiding the weight of his footsteps up the stairs to his old bedroom. Before he had gotten two thirds of the way up, Molly had come running into the kitchen, knitting basket and clock in hand, frantically waving her wand and trying to work more magic in the kitchen for the sudden appearance of one of her sons. She absolutely couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed the hand move to “travelling.”

It had taken a few minutes before Hermione had gotten over her own amusement and decided to clear her throat. Sitting at the table through Molly’s frenzied baking (fresh bread and a treacle tart to go with the beef stew she had been preparing for just herself and Arthur), Hermione had wondered just how often this had occurred throughout the years at the Burrow - Charlie showing up unannounced and wandering off for a shower before saying hello, even though his mother always knew when he arrived and always had a fresh loaf of sourdough waiting for him when he came downstairs. Once Hermione had made her presence known, though, she was sure the older witch was having a heart attack, or, for once, truly shocked.

“Oh, Hermione!” Molly cried, reaching out for a hug without dropping her wand or wooden spoon. “Oh, it’s so wonderful to see you dear. I swear I heard Charle --” she paused, listening to the creaky floor above. “You’ve both come to visit? I had begun to think I would never see the two of you in the same room again!” The clattering of a wooden spoon on the wooden table was the only warning Hermione had before she was hauled to her feet into a bone-crushing hug.

“Hi, mum” were the only syllables the young witch was able to squeak out between gasps for oxygen. Hermione Granger could wrestle a dragon next to some of the strongest men in the world, but she was no match for a Weasley hug. She had learned over the years that the best option was to lean into it and let it happen, but there was still a small part of her that wanted to struggle away. It felt like Molly had eventually realized how tight her hold was and she started to loosen up for a brief moment. The moment, however, was over as soon as they could hear Charlie barreling back down the stairs. While Hermione expected this to mean she would soon be free, she moved away a little too fast and almost got whiplash and she was tugged into a second, somehow tighter, hug.

As if Charlie could sense the last wisps of air being removed from Hermione’s lungs, he wandered in the kitchen with open arms and a grin that stretched from ear to ear. “Hello, mum! Did you miss me?” he asked, ready for his own bone-crushing hug. What happened next, however, he would have never expected.

Molly slowly pulled away from Hermione, her happy grin slowly forming a flat thin line where her mouth was supposed to be. “And what kind of greeting is that?!” the matriarch demanded, arms suddenly akimbo and her eyebrows threaded menacingly in the direction of her second eldest child.

“I.. I… what?” he stuttered. Hermione could only swallow her laugh and cover her smile with a cough and a hand over her mouth. Even on days where her temper had gone off the charts, Charlie was never found speechless or stunned. “I thought you’d be happy to see us for the holiday!”

“Oh, I’m always happy to see my children, darling. That doesn’t mean I don’t still have half a mind to send one of them to their room without supper.” Molly took a moment to tuck her wand away before raising her pointer finger to continue scolding her son. “No floo call, no letter, not even a Patronus to say thank you! I don’t even know if you got your gifts! You could’ve told me you were coming home for Christmas and I would have saved Errol the trip, the poor dear..”

It wasn’t often Charlie was caught off guard, especially amid a verbal confrontation. Hermione seemingly coughed again, her mouth still covered by her fingers. One might be a 34 year old, fully grown, and fully certified dragon handler, but that never meant much up against a mother, did it? Truth be told, he hadn’t meant to miss his annual birthday floo with his mum, he was just… a bit distracted at the time, that’s all.

“I didn’t mean to, mum, I swear…” he started, slouching into a chair as far away from the pair of women as he possibly could without getting too close to his mother’s wand arm. “I was just… I was busy, alright?” he stumbled. He couldn’t think of how to say ‘I came home from work to find a beautiful, candlelit meal prepared by my life partner that I’d sacrifice life and limb for.’ Not without telling his mum he was attached, at least. (And he still hadn’t quite worked out how Hermione had managed to make it happen, as they were side-by-side in the field all day long and she had only beaten him home by a few minutes’ time -- some of life’s best mysteries could only be solved by simply “magic.”) Molly’s glare was unrelenting, and Charlie’s head hung so low he was positive it might actually fall off, instead.

Just before Hermione had decided enough was enough and piped up to take the blame for Charlie not calling his mum (and, honestly, she had reminded him at least 4 times throughout the day), Molly checked the Weasley family clock again with an annoyed huff.

“Just as well, I’ve been waiting for one of you boys to volunteer to de-gnome the garden. Go on! Hop to it!” Charlie was shooed out of the kitchen before Molly turned to Hermione with a soft smile. “Now then, dear, can I get you a cup of tea?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the holidays rapidly approaching, I cannot guarantee an actual posting schedule, but I promise to post new chapters as soon as I am confident that they are finished within the best of my abilities! Currently, I have one more chapter written and a lot of little paragraphs that will weave their way in when the time is right. Hopefully I will have the third part ready for you all by the end of this week! Fingers crossed!  
> Again, thank you for being here! I was unaware kudos and comments would give me so much confidence, but I'm not complaining! See you soon.


	3. Friday, December 22, continued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge, very special thank you to my editor & beta on this chapter. They really pushed me to finish this and get us into the meat of the story.  
> As always, thank you for reading! Y'all are lovely.  
> Enjoy!  
> \- CB

It didn’t take Charlie long to finish his chores and slip away to his bedroom upstairs, hoping he’d have time for a short nap before dinner. He was home for a break, after all. He was hardly surprised when he opened the door to discover Hermione lounging on the bed, wand tucked into her hair, her nose buried in whatever it was she was reading.

“Comfortable, are you?” he asked, unable to wipe the grin from his permanently tanned, freckled face. He closed the door behind him and moved to climb into the bed, intent on reading over Hermione’s shoulder like he did most every night.

“Mmm, very,” she purred before settling herself and the stack of parchment against him, waiting for him to catch up before she moved the pages. It was something about manticores and she would occasionally lean forward to grab her quill and make a small note in the margin.

They had only had 20 or 30 minutes of quiet contentment before Hermione stiffened at the sound of the Floo activating downstairs and a pair of voices through the floor. She quickly gathered her parchment and quill, doing her best to untangle herself from Charlie without waking him up. She had a feeling Molly would let the new visitors know that Charlie and Hermione had both come home for the holidays and time was limited before someone came looking and found them in a much more familiar position than expected.

With her arms now full, Hermione took one look at the bed and couldn’t stop the small frown that had formed on her face. Charlie was propped up against the pillows, one arm still out and waiting for her to curl back up again, his fingers slowly grasping the air where her shoulder had just been. It was a very sweet sight, but a temptation she would have to skip for the next few days. ‘Oh, it’s going to be a long holiday,’ Hermione sighed to herself before creeping out of the room and shutting the door behind her as quietly as possible.

As it turned out, Hermione didn’t need to worry so much - the pair of voices that had come through the floo belonged to Bill and Fleur - the only two Weasleys that had known about their coupling since the beginning. Bill was smart enough to not come upstairs to say hello and Fleur was smart enough to follow suit. Breathing a sigh of relief, Hermione slowly crept up the stairs to deposit her things in Ginny’s room before making her way downstairs.

“He’s asleep,” she whispered to the eldest Weasley brother, leaning in for a warm hug hello.

“Why am I somehow not surprised?” Bill asked, tightening his grip around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze like only an older brother can provide. He let his cheek rest on the top of her head for a moment before releasing her to greet Fleur. The two women grinned at each other knowingly before they were overtaken by the urge for a quick giddy squeeze and happy noise before moving away from the staircase and into the lounge.

“‘Ow was the trip home?” Fleur inquired as she settled into her preferred corner couch near the fireplace, a soft hand rubbing her slightly swollen belly. “I do not think anyone expected to have both of you home for the ‘oliday.” Bill sat next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, allowing his head to roll to the opposite side. It was almost like he was following Charlie’s brilliant idea of a nap before dinner, though Charlie wasn’t taking a break from the two children running amok in Molly’s kitchen.

Hermione shrugged as she flopped into her favorite armchair not far from her most-frequented bookshelf. “Oh, not awful, I suppose,” she sighed. “We almost missed our Portkey because _someone_ forgot to declare a few gifts on our way through customs, but they didn’t keep anything. I’m starting to think Charlie is bribing someone at the Romanian ministry with the amount of ţuică he manages to bring home.” She rolled her eyes slightly as she began to tug her hair into a high bun, getting a little too warm for comfort near the blazing fire. Bill had apparently mastered his dad skills throughout the years, because he managed to laugh in such a way that his chest was rising and falling in a way that could be viewed as quick but shallow breathing, even if Hermione could faintly hear the broken exhale sneaking out through his nose. “I suppose I know where it’s all going then, don’t I?” she mused quietly as Fleur shot her husband a dirty look.

As Hermione opened her mouth to speak again, a beaming Arthur appeared with a small tea tray filled with various drinks and treats. “Hello, Hermione!” he remarked, setting the tray on the table and moving towards Fleur to lightly touch the grandchild he had yet to meet. He handed Fleur a cup of tea, prepared just the way she liked it, before offering a choice of beverages to Hermione. She settled on a brown bottled homebrew (a hobby Arthur had picked up in the years all of his children had come of age) and popped the cap, allowing the drink to cool her off just a little.

“Hi, Arthur,” she grinned back at him. “Fantastic batch! What’ve you added this time around?”

Arthur blushed a bit at the praise, but was also quite proud of his newest sour. “I’ve been experimenting with sour ales this year, actually. We had a bit too many cherries for just Molly and myself this summer, so I thought it could be a fun addition.”

“It’s just lovely, Arthur, really!” she complimented, eagerly taking another sip before settling her bottle between her legs as she curled up. “Are we expecting anyone else for dinner?” she wondered aloud, knowing the presence of four children and two grandchildren was already over the anticipated amount of Weasleys for a Friday night meal.

“Perhaps Ginny and the children, if she’s not too tired. Ginny mentioned in her last letter that Albus has been driving her batty this week. Harry is working quite late these days, as I’m sure you know, and she is doing everything she can to make sure all three boys are cleaned up and in bed before he gets home.”

Hermione and Fleur nodded in understanding; Harry spent most of his time at the Ministry these days, working his arse off. Robards was expected to retire in the coming months and Harry would stop at nothing to make sure he was the top choice to take over the department, often leaving Ginny to feed, bathe, and clothe Teddy, James, and Albus to the best of her ability. It was a giant undertaking she had found herself to excel at, being Molly Weasley’s only daughter, and she relished in taking care of her boys and their home.

“George and Ron will be closing the shop late, I expect,” Arthur continued. “The Friday before Christmas? You know how hard-pressed they are to turn away a sale.” He paused for another moment, allowing the women to silently agree yet again. “I’m sure they would all be home for dinner if they knew you were coming,” he added gently, hoping Hermione wasn’t offended at the lack of a full Weasley welcome.

“Oh, no, no, Arthur! It’s fine!” she softly argued, straightening in her chair. “I was merely curious. We weren’t expecting to come home so soon, let alone together and…” she stilled, unsure if she should keep talking or let her unsaid feelings hang in the air. She snuck a glance at Bill and Fleur across the room; it seemed Charlie had taken a moment to scribble a quick note to his big brother and absolutely no one else in his family about their impending arrival for the holidays. “Really. I think a small dinner with Victoire and Dominique is the perfect Weasley family greeting. Thank you for adjusting so quickly.”

Arthur chuckled at that and raised his own cherry sour in a small salute. “Believe you me, Hermione - when you have as big a family as I do, quick adjustments become your norm.” She beamed back at her stand-in father, relieved he wasn’t nearly as upset as Molly had been at Charlie’s blatant lack of communication with his parents.

Before she could say anything else, Molly had stuck her head into the lounge to count heads of the Weasleys present before letting them know their dinner was almost ready. Hermione took the opportunity to quietly excuse herself from the room and head up the stairs to wake her partner for a well-deserved and hard-earned feast.

Dinner itself was a relatively quiet affair, as far as Weasley meals go. Fleur and Molly spent the majority of their time discussing the differences in the Frenchwoman’s third pregnancy - she and Bill had recently discovered they were having their first boy and Molly always had the best tips for staying sane whilst growing yet another Weasley boy. Hermione and Arthur were deep in their own conversation about a jinxed face cream that somehow made its way onto the Muggle market and was expected to cause quite a racket if they couldn’t track down each tube by Christmas.

With everyone distracted in their own conversations, Bill thought this might be his golden opportunity to pick Charlie’s brain on how he and Hermione were planning on making their way through Christmas without being found out.

“Well, it certainly can’t be kept quiet if you insist on asking questions like that at the dinner table,” Charlie muttered under his breath, sending a sharp elbow into his brother’s ribs.

“You really think they’re paying attention?” Bill ventured with a tilt of his head in their mother’s direction with a roll of his eyes. “I’m serious, Char. Unless it’s life or death, you’ve always been shite at keeping secrets from mum. I’d put 10 galleons on Buckbeak winning the World Cup before you being able to hide an entire relationship for the next week. Are you even planning on sleeping in separate bedrooms?” At that, Hermione choked on her stew and glanced up at Bill, her eyes holding a mixture of annoyance and sudden worry.

“Bill!” she whispered fiercely, choosing her timing carefully - Molly had gotten up from the table to pull pudding out of the oven. “Can we talk about this later? This is neither the time or the place.”

“Oh, come off it, Hermione,” he began, fully intending to continue the conversation until Charlie’s elbow connected with his ribs again. He winced and automatically swatted back at his younger brother, momentarily forgetting he was in the presence of his children and parents.

“Boys.” Arthur warned sternly, shooting both a look that read ‘You Both Know Better’ before seemingly redirecting his attention to the tray of pumpkin pasties being levitated towards the dinner table.

The two brothers sighed for wholly different reasons and returned to their meal - Bill, a bit cheerier than before, and Charlie, grumpier than he had been all day. Fortunately, Hermione had spent years learning to curb his fiery temper and had him back to his usual cheery self before she crept up to Ginny’s room at the first hint of sunlight.


	4. Saturday, 23 December; breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to my fantastic beta for helping me flesh out my half-baked ideas and reminding me to just have some fun getting this out of my brain.  
> I'm hoping to get you all at least one more part before the holidays!  
> Enjoy & thank you again for reading!  
> Your positivity is inspiring!  
> <3  
> CB

“Magic or Muggle, you need to eat your cereal!” Ginny’s sing-song voice carried up the stairs. Hermione smiled to herself as she made her way down for breakfast, grateful she and Charlie wouldn’t have to muddle through breakfast alone with Arthur and Molly.   
  
Despite his awful timing, Bill had been right in reminding Charlie that he _is_ notoriously awful at keeping secrets from his parents when he has to actually speak to them. The reminder stuck with Hermione throughout the night and she had definitely not woken up with the Christmas spirit.  
  
Fleur had offered the pair a small room in Shell Cottage for the week, which Hermione wanted to strongly consider but Charlie was, for some reason, adamantly against. Hermione had debated going alone, but thought it might be a bit suspicious if Charlie kept popping over to Bill and Fleur’s with what would undoubtedly become horrendously fake excuses as the week wore on, so at the Burrow they stayed. She sighed to herself and was readying her brain to speak aloud when a small blur with wacky black hair appeared in front of her.   
  
“Well, hello there,” Hermione greeted little James Potter with an outstretched hand, softly blocking his way out of the kitchen. It appeared as if the small boy had hidden his oatmeal from his mother and was attempting to make a quick getaway before anyone had noticed.  
  
“Auntie!” he cried, throwing his arms around her legs with a squeeze, squishing bits of cold oatmeal into her trousers. Hermione scowled for a moment before casting a silent Scourgify and ruffling his hair, making it somehow wilder than Harry’s.  
  
“Well, hello, my little love,” she grinned, bending over to pick him up and prop him on her hip. “Seems we’re only interested in sneaking breakfast out of the kitchen today?” With a quick wink at Ginny, Hermione returned the three year old back to his seat at the table and scooped a few berries into his bowl. “Why don’t we try again, hm?”   
  
James pinched his mouth, clearly not interested in eating anything decent for breakfast that wasn’t his current favourite: hotcakes. Ginny sighed and waved her wand lazily towards the cupboard - she was clearly in no mood to force feed her eldest child this morning. Flour and sugar made their way out of the cupboard and began measuring themselves into a bowl as the talented young witch placed a skillet over the now-burning stovetop.  
  
“Quite the picky bunch I’ve got,” she remarked cheerfully, handing Hermione a strong cup of morning tea. “Alright, Hermione?”   
  
“Alright just about covers it, really. Can’t complain much in polite company…” she trailed off, breaking up a piece of fruit for little Albus to busy her hands. “Bill might officially be losing his marbles and Charlie’s --” she immediately stopped as Charlie yawned his way into the kitchen, stretching out all the while.   
  
“Mornin’, Gin,” he managed out between grunts, instinctively moving towards Hermione to plant a soft kiss on her temple, “I missed you this morning, ma mie.” And then he froze.  
  
Ginny’s eyes were so wide they were threatening to pop out of her head. She slowly covered her mouth with one hand and slowly pointed towards the front door with the other - Arthur had been on his way back inside from the chicken coop and froze in the doorway, doing his level best to not drop the eggs he had ventured outside to retrieve for breakfast. Charlie apparently hadn’t noticed his father in his half-awake state and Hermione, busy helping the children, had her back to the door.  
  
“Oh, bugger,” Charlie breathed into her ear, causing Hermione to whip her head around to figure out what all the fuss was about.  
  
As soon as her eyes found Arthur’s, her face exploded into a very interesting shade of burgundy and she immediately knew there would be no way to explain this away, though it wouldn’t stop her from trying.  
  
“Arthur!” she exclaimed, pushing Charlie away from her with an accidental amount of force. “That’s not… this isn’t…” she stammered, frantically looking between her partner and adoptive sister. It was her turn to be wholly speechless in almost exactly the same spot as Charlie, not even 24 hours later. Arthur simply held up his free hand and gave a single, sharp shake of his head.   
  
“We don’t need to discuss this in front of the children,” was all their father said before handing his only daughter (by birth) the ten or so eggs he had managed to save and left the kitchen.   
  
“Shit. Shit, shit, shit,” Charlie groaned, thumping himself in the head with increasing force for every swear.  
  
Hermione had set her jaw in a deep scowl and turned to her partner, clearly displeased with his slip-up and blatant disregard for his surroundings. Being fully familiar with everything going on in any type of situation was part of their daily life and had become more like a sixth sense, even before his morning coffee. Apparently, Charlie left his brain on the nightstand upstairs today.  
  
“Fix this. **Now.** ”   
  
She didn’t have to tell him twice before he sprinted from the room.  
  
\-----  
  
“Dad! Dad, dad, dad --” Charlie reached for his father’s arm, intent on stopping him before he was too far away and potentially within Molly’s earshot. While he wasn’t awake 30 seconds ago, he sure had woken up by now!  
  
Arthur didn’t say anything, just kept climbing the stairs and it took Charlie a few more steps before he realized where they were going: his own bedroom.   
  
He was going to have to sit on his childhood bed in his childhood bedroom while his father sat in The Chair and they were going to have a serious conversation.   
  
He was done for.  
  
\-----  
  
Hermione and Ginny sat rooted to their spots in the kitchen for a few moments in shock. They might have stayed that way for a good while if it weren’t for the acrid smoke filling the air from the forgotten hotcakes. Ginny jumped and turned around to the cooktop, hoping to salvage something decent after the loss of half the eggs.   
  
Grateful for Ginny’s distraction, Hermione took a few moments to gather her thoughts while she finally had a sip of her tea. She had reminded Charlie countless times that they needed to avoid physical contact and sweet nicknames! It was exactly the behavior that would get them caught, and now it had happened right there at the breakfast table.   
  
This was _not_ how she wanted her day to start.  
  
\-----  
  
“How long?”   
  
Charlie’s assessment had been correct. He was currently eye to eye with his father, totally unsure of how to conduct himself. He supposed it would depend on what happened next, and his father had already made the first move. He resigned to answer the question honestly.   
  
“Three and a half years, give or take,” he admitted, sort of as an afterthought.   
  
Arthur merely nodded, his face serious with concentration. Charlie couldn’t figure out any of the emotions hidden on his father’s face and he had realized that he didn’t want to lie - what was the point? Dad always knew far more than he let on, anyway.  
  
“Your sister knows?” It was asked in the same level tone as before.  
  
“Yes,” Charlie nodded slowly. “Gin knows, yeah.”   
  
“And your brothers?”   
  
The line of questioning was not really what Charlie was expecting, but he had already decided to answer honestly. Bill was right: Charlie was absolutely awful about keeping secrets from his parents when he was directly prodded. It was a bit annoying for his siblings growing up, but they all had fun messing with him about it eventually.   
  
He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. He wished he hadn’t left his coffee downstairs. Not only would taking a long drink buy him some time, but it would give him something to do with his hands that wasn’t nervously running them through his hair.  
  
“Bill and Fleur. Maybe Harry. You know how Gin can be with secrets.”  
  
While Charlie might be terrible at keeping secrets from their parents, Ginny had spent so much more time at home under Percy and the twins. She had figured out how to keep secrets before she could even speak.  
  
“And at the Reserve?”   
  
“Everyone. We moved into our own small cabin a few years back..” Charlie paused and watched a look of shock and surprise flash through his father’s eyes. He hesitated before continuing, starting to warm up to the idea of this honesty thing.  
  
“We’re a unit back home. A true partnership. We’re out in the field together most every day. I come home to someone who understands how long my day was, and I know how tired she is, too. We take care of each other. I never get tired of talking to her. We just… are.” Charlie finished lamely, the tips of his ears turning pink as he looked back into his father’s eyes.   
  
“Why not here?”  
  
Charlie looked towards the ceiling and ran a hand through his hair again, scratching the back of his head as he chose his words carefully. Now that he was caught, he was doing his best not to offend.   
  
“Mum, mostly,” he finally replied slowly. His father tilted his head slightly and silently urged him to continue speaking.  
  
“Hermione and I are in agreement that we do not need to get married and have children to have a happy life and strong future together. Those things have never been on our radar, likely never will be, and you know how Mum can be…”   
  
The two men sat there in silence for a few moments while Arthur slowly digested everything he had learned. His face was still serious, but it had softened significantly over the course of Charlie’s manifesto. It was Arthur’s turn to choose his words carefully, and he wanted to say them in the most reassuring way he could muster. The older man decided on one more question.   
  
“Why are you so afraid I’ll go telling your mother the first chance I get?"  
  
“I honestly hadn’t considered you _not_ telling her as a possibility.”   
  
“I’d like to think I raised you to you a little better than that, Charlie. You should know by now that you can come to talk to me without the wrath of your mother on your mind. I know her temper better than I know my own wand. Don’t make me lie for you, but I will always do what I can to soften the blow.”  
  
Unsure of what else to say, Charlie sat there and stared at his father again. He felt a little lighter somehow, like a weight he didn’t know was there had been lifted from his shoulders. One half of his parents knew, and he wasn’t upset that they had hid themselves from the family. However, it was obvious his dad was hurt by his child not feeling comfortable confiding in him. Charlie would have to atone for that as best he could.   
  
Arthur sat there for another moment considering his son before clapping his hands and standing up. The movement felt like an enchantment around them had broken and they were now in the middle of a perfectly normal conversation.   
  
“Well! I believe I saw someone downstairs making hotcakes and eggs, didn’t you? I think we should explore our breakfast options while there are still options.  
  
And with that, Arthur swept out of the room, leaving a slightly dazed Charlie in his wake.  
  
\-----   
  
“What do you think they’re talking about?” Ginny eventually wondered aloud, breaking the tension rising in the large kitchen space.   
  
“I’d venture a guess that they’re having a conversation I do not want Charlie having without any type of supervision.” Hermione sighed and swilled her teacup. There was nothing she could do about it right now, and any of the wild ideas she had come up with would just make things worse.   
  
Unsure of how to fill her time, Hermione stayed in the kitchen with Ginny and kept an eye on the children while Ginny made more breakfast foods for the Weasley members in other rooms of the house. They continued working next to one another and let the tension continue rising - nothing would change until Charlie came back, and at least her hands were busy.   
  
If it were somehow possible, Hermione stiffened even further when the two men finally did return, their conversation suspiciously back to a player trade between the Chudley Cannons and the Falmouth Falcons a few weeks prior. Jumping at the chance to talk about work, Ginny hurriedly shared any inside knowledge that hadn’t made it into the papers while she finished up making breakfast and levitated trays of food onto the table.   
  
“Where’s mum?” Charlie asked while serving himself a portion of eggs.   
  
“Oh, she’s out in Diagon Alley for the morning,” Arthur replied as he accepted the serving bowl being passed to him. “Seems something tripped the jinxed step in the wee hours of the morning, so we both got an early start to the day.”   
  
Hermione blanched and looked up, worried. Her brown eyes met Arthur’s soft green, almost mossy in colour; they were bright and full of a familiar mischief she frequently saw in his children.   
  
She breathed a sigh of relief and tucked into her breakfast. Having Arthur on their side, along with Bill, Fleur, and Ginny, meant they might actually have a shot at making it through the next few days without a line of relentless questioning.   
  
They could only hope.


	5. 23 December, night / 24 December, morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent a week thinking about this chapter, and don't particularly feel like waiting for a beta - thusly, any/all typos and issues are wholly my own.  
> Here's a thing my brain said!  
> Enjoy.  
> \- CB

_23 December; Saturday night._  
“How’d it go?” Hermione wondered idly as she and Charlie began an abridged version of their regular bedtime routine.  
  
While Arthur had been surprisingly calm about their quiet coupling, they were still doing their best to not arouse Molly’s suspicions. As such, they showered and changed into pyjamas separately and Hermione didn’t return to the bathroom until Charlie was toweling off his hair.  
  
“Not as bad as I thought,” he replied softly, determined to not let his voice carry through the house. He capped the facial cleanser Hermione had handed him a few moments earlier and began to lather his face.  
  
“Is he, um..?” Hermione began before splashing warm water from the running tap onto her own features, doing her best to not get soap in her eyes.  
  
“He’s alright with it,” Charlie told her seriously, turning slightly so he could look at her. Even with his hair pushed back with a garishly yellow headband and soapy face, he was somehow still dashing as ever. If one weren’t familiar with this softer, domestic side of the burly dragon keeper, Hermione was sure they’d be laughing at the view. This situation, however, was something Hermione experienced almost every night before bed.  
  
“But…” she began, furrowing her brows slightly once they were clear of soap.  
  
“He’ll keep to himself,” Charlie promised as he picked up their toothbrushes, holding them out for Hermione to apply the dentist-approved amount of paste.  
  
“How can you be so sure?” Hermione worried, scrunching her nose as she hesitated to grab her cleaning instrument from Charlie’s outstretched hand.  
  
“I trust him, _ma mie_. You should, too,” he whispered, placing a soft kiss on her forehead before popping his toothbrush into his mouth. He stretched his arm out and waited for her to follow suit. With a small sigh, Hermione curled into his side as they finished their routine in relative silence.  
  
While they had hoped no one would overhear them over the sound of running water downstairs, they hadn’t accounted for Harry coming up the stairs to track the sound of Hermione’s voice.  
  
Ginny and the children had decided to stay at the Burrow for the night, and he had decided to join them. It was easier than getting all 3 boys home to sleep and back in the morning. He had hoped to catch her to say goodnight, but the sound of Charlie’s voice coming from the same bathroom gave him pause.  
  
As opposed to knocking, Harry turned on his heel to run down the stairs, intent on writing Ron a quick owl to suggest he come visit for Christmas Eve earlier rather than later.  
  
\----------  
  
 _24 December; late morning._  
“Bowie, come here and look at this!” Charlie called through the house from the kitchen. He was standing near the door, looking outside and laughing beside Harry and Ginny.  
  
“Yes, Charlie, what is it?” Hermione asked, making her way to the kitchen, Ron hot on her heels.  
  
“Who the hell is Bowie?” Ron asked at the same time, trying to shoulder his way between his two siblings at the window and see what they thought was so funny.  
  
“Honestly, Ronald.” Hermione huffed, standing on her tip-toes to see over his shoulder. As usual, Ron was doing a very poor job of picking up the more subtle clues from the situation around him. Ginny moved back to the table, giving up her vantage point so Hermione could actually see what was going on outside.  
  
Up in the tree just outside the garden, a bird had removed what appeared to be a ball of worms from one of the many gnomeholes Charlie had purged yesterday afternoon. The gnomes were attempting to ladder up one another to retrieve their stolen dinner before the birds ate it all. While it wasn’t the most exciting thing in the world, Charlie and Hermione found it hilarious.  
  
“Seriously, who the tell is Bowie?” Ron demanded, trying to make sense of the scene playing out in front of him.  
  
“I am,” Hermione replied simply between giggles, concentrating on laughing _with_ Charlie as opposed to laughing _at_ Ronald.  
  
“Why the hell would he call you Bowie? What does that even mean? That’s not even a word!” Ron countered, increasingly annoyed with the lack of explanation. “You never let Harry and I call you anything but Hermione!”  
  
“You and Harry only call me Hermione because you lack the creativity to come up with something better than _Mione_ ,” she countered, her distaste evident in the scrunching of her nose. “Bowie is something someone at home said in jest and it sort of...stuck,” she tried to explain, trying to replace her annoyance with amusement as the situation outside continued to play out.  
  
“Hermione’s got a specific tree on the Reserve she’s incredibly fond of,” Charlie explained, moving away from the window to take a seat near his sister. He began to address her as opposed to the grumpy redheaded brother near the window.  
  
“It sort of… sprouted overnight?” Charlie paused for a moment, trying to figure out how to best explain the phenomenon. “It was really spectacular to see. We had planted some seeds, and none of them seemed to take, but there was one in particular that really took to something in Hermione’s magic…” he trailed off, looking to Hermione as she sat down, silently questioning if she wanted to take over the story. It was _her_ nickname, after all.  
  
“It didn’t ‘sprout overnight,’ Charlie, you know that,” she frowned. “It took a few months of constant visits and attention. But once it started growing, it really took to the soil and became incredibly sturdy. It’s become my hiding place, of sorts.”  
  
“You don’t really hide up there, Bowie,” Charlie softly corrected.  
  
“Maybe not from you, but from the rest of the world, I do.” Hermione shrugged before continuing the story, unsure if she was annoyed by the interruption, so she chose to let it slide. This did not go unnoticed by Ron and Harry, who were surprised to see their best friend _not_ chastise someone for correcting her mid-sentence.  
  
“It’s my favourite place to go and read,” she admitted wistfully, wishing she had someplace similar at the Burrow. “Anyway, this tree and I… bonded, I suppose is the word. It gives me reprieve from the daily stressors of life, and I protect it.”  
  
“You _protect_ it?” Ron asked, aghast.  
  
“Yes,” she replied simply. “I’ve healed it a few times. A few broken branches here and there. Mended some bark back down near the base when the dragons have smashed into it a few times too many. I eventually figured out how to cover it in some enchantments and charms to make it essentially fire-proof. As I’ve said, we’ve bonded.”  
  
“Sort of like the Lorax,” Harry added, envisioning some Whomping Willow-type monstrosity that only Hermione could control. She laughed heartily at that, and then a bit harder at the confused Weasley faces around the table.  
  
“You know, I tried to push for that, instead, but nobody listened.”  
  
“Who is the Lore Axe?” Ginny asked, finally breaking her silence.  
  
“The _Lorax_ ,” Hermione corrected. “He’s a character from a Muggle children’s book. He speaks for the trees.”  
  
“But what does this Lorax have to do with Bowie?” Ron insisted.  
  
“Oh, come off it, Ronnie. Have you forgotten _everything_ from Care of Magical Creatures?” Charlie rolled his eyes. “It’s obviously short for Bowtruckle.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
At that, Ginny and Harry burst into laughter. They couldn’t believe it had taken Ron so long to put two and two together. The childhood sweethearts had sorted it out as soon as Charlie mentioned there was a tree back home Hermione was particularly fond of.  
  
“So everyone calls you Bowie back home?” Ginny wondered, curious why Hermione nor Charlie had mentioned this in any of their letters over the years.  
  
“Just about, yeah,” Hermione confirmed. “Everyone except for Luke, our boss. I highly doubt he’ll ever call me anything but Granger.”  
  
“Wow,” Harry remarked with a slow, low whistle. “Never thought I’d see the day Hermione Granger resigned herself to a nickname.”  
  
“It’s not _nicknames_ that I hate, it’s people shortening a perfectly acceptable first name due to their own laziness,” Hermione gently chastised as she rose from the table and moved to grab her coat and shove her feet into her boots. Charlie soon followed suit.  
  
“C’mon, Char. Let’s go see if we can help those sorry sacks stuck in the tree.”  
  
With that, the pair were out the door.  
  
“What's that all about?” Ron questioned, reaching for an apple from the fruit bowl in the middle of the table.  
  
“No idea,” Harry responded, looking to Ginny. He hadn’t said anything to her about the exchange in the bathroom just yet, assuming his wife would have come to him if she had thoughts of anything suspicious going on. “Knut for your thoughts?”  
  
“Honestly, boys. Hermione’s been working in Romania for over 5 years now. Did you seriously expect she wouldn’t get comfortable?” Ginny shook her head at the pair of slowpokes and lifted her pregnant self from her chair and wandered out of the kitchen, leaving the boys alone with their thoughts.  
  
“What d’you reckon she means by ‘get comfortable’?” Ron wondered aloud, cocking his head at Harry. Harry merely shrugged and waved his hands in a way that was intended to mean something like ‘you know how elusive Ginny can be sometimes.’ Ron shrugged, too, and returned to his apple.  
  
Harry stood up again, intent on following his wife out of the room, but stole a glance outside first. He was curious to see how Hermione and Charlie would “help” the gnomes in their attempt to climb a tree taller than the small, stupid things would ever be able to scale. He was not, however, expecting to see the pair outside, poorly hidden by the tree trunk, Charlie’s head bent down at a peculiar angle…  
  
As soon as Harry realized what he was _actually_ looking at, he had to fight every inch of his body on frog-marching Ron out of the kitchen and into the lounge, as far away from that side of the house as possible. While he couldn’t say he was particularly surprised to see Hermione and Charlie kissing outside, he was sure Ron would storm out and give them each a piece of his mind, especially after the spectacle Ron had made out of one silly nickname.  
  
“Fancy a round of Exploding Snap?” Harry asked, doing his best to distract Ron’s gaze from the window.  
  
“Yeah, sure, Harry.” Ron replied.  
  
Thankfully, the youngest Weasley son had been sitting with his back towards any glass showing the outside world, totally unaware of what was happening six meters away. He didn’t sneak a glance outside, either, before heading into the lounge and straight for the table where the worn deck of cards had lived for the last three or four decades.


End file.
